Virginia
by Aelys
Summary: [Oneshot] "Afterall, when Voldemort claims you as wife, there is no escape but death." Draco, survivor of dark times, finds himself happy again, despite the loss of his first love. [DG]


**Summary:** Oneshot "Afterall, when Voldemort claims you as wife, there is no escape but death." Draco, survivor of dark times, finds himself happy again, despite the loss of his first love. D/G

**Rating:** PG

**Disclaimer:** All belongs to JK Rowling (except for Virginia); no money is being made.

**Author's note:** Hmm, potential prequel? It's just a little idea I got one evening, and I just kind of… wrote it. Obviously. Reading it again, I realise the concept is similar - to some extent - to Catalina Royce's story: The Myth of Innocence. I'm sorry, it wasn't my intention, I didn't even think of it. I might have been inspired by it though, so go read her fabulous work of art!

Small detail: I mention Bellatrix, but it is supposed visitors were allowed in Azkaban

Yes, I know Ginny's name is _not_ Virginia, but Ginevra. Well, I respected that… So read the story and find out who this Virginia is! Enjoy, and please review.

**Virginia**

She looks so much like you.

I'm sorry to compare you to her, but it's true. I can't get it off my mind. I feel like I'm in one of those bizarre muggle novels, the ones which eventually conclude with an eery happy ending, despite the former twisted events assuring nothing will ever be right again.

Who had thought I'd notice her, when I've lost you?

Seventeen and happier than I'd ever thought I could be after you passed away. They all whispered I would get over it, you know, and that my hatred towards your father would fade. These whispers drove me insane. How could they discard my grief so easily? Had they only felt what bond we had for the shortest of seconds, they might have understood me. But they hadn't, and I was sure my vengeance was the only thing I could live for.

I was wrong on so many things, and so were they. I have not forgotten my quest for retribution; the final battle draws closer, my plan is slowly getting into motion. But the ache has lessened a bit, because of the weirdest of things. _She_ understood. Out of all the persons on earth, Ginevra Weasley understood my fears and my anger. My pain.

She was sitting on a lonely bench in the outskirts of Hogwarts' garden, holding a picture of you in her hands. I was astonished to see your cool face smirking slyly at her. On that picture, you were very much alive, and just as I remembered you. Where Ginevra had gotten hold of it, I didn't know. I had been craving for a walk, and instead of meeting the peace a winter evening usually brought, I was forced back into memories of our childhood. I thought it cruel of her to do such a thing and I didn't intent to answer any of her questions. Because yes, I was expecting her to ask me what had happened.

Instead, she told me all about her first year at school. Her eyes boring into yours, ignoring the arctic mistral and my very person, she spilled out the secrets I was sure no one had ever had the chance to listen to. Maybe no one had asked. Just as she seemed to have expected it, I listened without uttering a word. It dawned on me she had already figured out I would be able to comprehend her feelings.

She had been hurt by the Dark Lord himself. Do you realise what this means? You and I were scarred by our fathers and knew Voldemort was the root of our problems, but we never got to see him. She did, and she fell in love. Voldemort whisked it all away from her, laughing in her face as her innocence fell into shards. We had fallen in love too, but your death was at the same time a release for my soul. Ginevra never knew where her love had gone, and why.

Tom, she said, was a kind, clever boy. He had a good heart, she was sure. Until something began to corrupt him, and slowly turned him into the bastard we all fear. Ginevra was there, she saw it happen. She had felt the changes Tom had gone through, she had felt the darkness slowly taking him over. Rather than out of distress, her silent screams had been of woe. That was Voldermort's one and only mistake: his diary also contained his still pure essence, from before he had succumbed to madness. And it was that Tom Ginevra had fallen in love with. A memory, a 'what could have been'. We were never a 'what could have been', far from it.

She was stuck in an impossible love, and juggled with the idea of meddling with time. She desperately wanted a way, any way, to avoid her love's downfall. But she knew fate was vicious, and wouldn't let her have a happy ending. So instead, she focused her anger on him, Voldemort, one of the most powerful wizards of the century.

I felt compelled to tell her our story. This Tom she talked of with such sadness, he was as lost to her as you were to me. So I told her who you were, even though she knew. She confessed she had looked it up, and investigated a little bit. On the surface, the facts were correct. The media had gotten all the gruesome details of your death, but not the true reasons. Honestly, you got depressed and therefor slid your veins open?

Our fathers were such good liars.

You loved to wear your hair in loose, spiral curls, I remember. Always attached in a high ponytail, or nested in a complicated bun. Ginevra likes her locks wavy and free, always unruly and flaming. The colour is stupefying. I remember teasing you about it, insinuating you were kin to the Weasleys. That was before I learned I was too, at which occasion you cackled hysterically, delighted of your unplanned revenge. You didn't like talking about it though, and I doubt you realised your crimson mane was one of the factors which made you so desirable.

You laughed about many things, but then again, just once. You got easily bored. You'd toss books aside without having read the last chapters, claiming you already knew the ending. You'd order a new set of weapons each week, since you had lost interest in the previous ones. You'd add your own ingredients, usually poisons, to harmless potions and our mothers would throw a tantrum each and every time. You tired of merely watching the unicorns gallop, and itched to touch one. When you finally did, you set your goal to ride them. I thought you were mental, but so was I. And we were content.

She is happy too, now. We found solace in in each other. A year has passed since our first civil conversation, and I find myself entranced by her being. Watching her play in the snow right now, firing sticky balls at her brother -who calls her 'Ginny', how awfully innocent - and smirking like a Slytherin, makes me wonder how you would have grown up to be.

The answer almost too sad to acknowledge. We both would have been Death Eaters, desperately fighting our last battles. And yes, I'm sure those are the last battles your father is enduring. Voldemort is falling, and perhaps this is why Ginevra and I feel somewhat revived. I realise this was how things were supposed to happen. Your departure opened new doors to me, and I'm forever grateful to you.

I miss you, nonetheless. I wasn't lying when I told you you were unique.

Because you are, and so is she.

Your eyes were emerald green, and held a shine the most skilled jeweler could not obtain. Men killed for just a glance at you, and you would heartlessly shove them away. You were only thirteen, when the first asked your hand. You had eyed him warily and loudly claimed he was out of place for even considering such a thing. Your family thought you would have the man killed, but instead, you came to me. Oddly enough, I think you knew there was no future for you. Why didn't you trust me your fears?

Ginevra looks up at me with warm, melting chocolate eyes. The pain in them is obvious, while yours always wore a black veil protecting your inner emotions. Slytherins to the core, pure-blooded and dark-minded. We had grown up in politics, House quarrels and foul prejudices. Ginevra was a shock, since she was so defenseless and open, her feelings boiling right beneath the surface. I think you would have sneered at her, as I had so many times before.

You who were cool and controlled, arrogant in your delicate, girly way, no wonder my mother as well as Bellatrix admired your demeanour. It wasn't something your mother had drilled into you; it was your very heart that had covered with frost at the sight of this decaying world. You were cruel and ruthless, you enjoyed pulling nasty pranks and making other people's lives miserable. I loved you for that, and for so much more.

Ginevra, on the other hand, channels her extra energy in fiery outburst and rants. She believes in honour, in nobility. Instead of planning ages ahead for vengeance, she'd slap you in the face right there and then. Nothing in her life is calculated, all is spontaneous. It's a nice change. Not that I minded your stubborn placidness, I loved it. But at these times, it is good to be reminded that she is not you. It works well enough.

She never voiced her opinion on what you did, yet I know she doesn't agree. She would have fought on, with all the Gryffindoric courage and passionate rage she could have mustered. I, on the contrary, understand why you did it. And I loved you just as much; had I been in your place, I would have done so too. It hurts to say it, even now. Even with the knowledge you had planned it all along, and that there was no way out, it hurts.

Afterall, when Voldemort claims you as wife, there is no escape but death.

I did as you had requested with your last breath; I sent the charmed letter on which you spilt your lifeblood to him. None of his slaves noticed it was cursed, nor did he. Potter might think the victory will be all his, but we know your curse has weakened him greatly. You put your life into it, how could it not have?

He claimed you, and you chose death. I claimed Ginevra, and she owns me. The only destiny left for Voldemort now is to follow your path, and I'm certain he knows.

You were my lover and my saviour, Virginia. I will always adore you.

So forgive me if I feel almost complete again. I'm not replacing you; it was cruel fate that decided Ginevra's beauty was to be alike and yet different from yours.

We were children, at fifteen, lost in a battle of giants. We were hopeless, and scared. But we had each other, and that was our strength. I live now, thanks to you, and your father will pay to have so willingly kneeled for the Dark Lord. He will pay for every scar he inflicted you. But I have gotten over you, and I'm sure you understand. You always did.

So as you stood by my side, Ginevra now proudly holds this place, and I sense the strong links of a soulbond forming.

Life chose you as a sacrifice, so that good could overpower evil again. Had you known, when you pressed the sharp blade on your pristine skin? Had you known that despite our love, I would heal?

Clever, beautiful Virginia. You won't be forgotten.

I shall watch your chained father scream his regret and beg for mercy. I shall watch with delight, as the dementors suck out his soul.

And then, then I'll build a new life, with my love by my side. It is time to move on, it is time for victory.

Clever, beautiful Virginia. You won't be forgotten.

_**Fin**_


End file.
